The Sun Also Rises
by Non Timebo Malo
Summary: Dean Winchester has been stuck in a life he can no longer stand for far too long, and one rainy day, he reaches his breaking point. He's created for himself an unbearable life, and raising from Perdition is required. Angst turns to Destiel fluff.


**Summary: Dean Winchester has been stuck in a life he can no longer stand for far too long, and one rainy day, he reaches his breaking point. In which raising from Perdition is required.**

**So it's really pretty angsty at the beginning, but, as the title says, the sun also rises (as does the fluff). Hope you enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>The Sun Also Rises<strong>_

_ It's been a while, too long really, _Dean thinks as he rummages about in the car's trunk. Feeling the familiar texture of a tan trenchcoat against his hand, he can't help but smile, a strange, haunted smile, albeit, but a smile nonetheless. As he clutches the coat closer to him, he's suddenly finding himself thankful that it's raining. At least now Sam won't be too suspicious; he won't be able to distinguish between a teardrop and a raindrop.

Rain is falling in sheets around the man, pounding against the pavement hard enough to send drops splattering back upwards, taunting the sky, taunting gravity itself. Each raindrop seems to fall harder, faster, as Dean just stands there clutching the trenchcoat. It isn't long before the light tan fabric takes on a far darker hue, soaked through and through.

The silence is strange tonight. Even in the tempest of a storm, that all-pervading silence haunts Dean still. It's taking the entire world its prisoner, leaving Dean so totally and completely alone that he can hardly believe anyone else exists at all. Silence even seems to drown out the noise of the rain, making it fainter and fainter by the second as Dean loses himself in that coat. It's too quiet, too damn quiet. And that lack of sound is a monster Dean just can't fight. If he had a foe outside his own haunted despair, perhaps he could win; but not even Dean Winchester can fight this.

His eyes are shut against the coat, the only thing he has left of a person so dear to him, of a chapter of his life he's too afraid to re-read yet too afraid to throw into the fire, when a sudden lightning bolt illuminates the sky. A crack of thunder makes a valiant attempt to break the silence, and perhaps Dean even hears a distant, muffled rumble, but his senses are shot. Colors don't seem vibrant anymore; light hardly seems any different than the darkest of nights; and noises? Well, they're not the flutter of wings or the "Hello, Dean." the man has been praying for, so they don't really matter anyway. Life is just slipping imperceptibly by. And Dean would have it no other way, for every other way would just be all the more painful, all the more horrible. So, if time would just like to slip on by without ever carrying anything of any meaning whatsoever, that's damn fine by Dean.

"Cas," he mumbles into the coat in a tear-choked, husky voice, "I can't… I can't do this without you anymore. You were, you were supposed to be indestructible. You're an _angel_, damnit, you're _indestructible._"

Another lightning bolt flashes, not far in the distance, reverberating against every solid surface in the general vicinity, shaking the world hard enough that every Richter scale in the area must've picked up on it. But it doesn't matter. Dean's not there anymore anyway, he's off in another world, a _better_ world. One where Cas can hear his every word, his blue eyes softening with every syllable.

"Where are you, man? Where could you have gone? You've been alive, a _deity_, since the beginning of time. You've seen the rise and fall of every so-called great human being, the ebb and flow of nations, the fucking _Apocalypse_. You've survived all those Bible horror stories, Ice Ages, natural disasters. Where does a creature like that go after… after… after _everything_?" Dean struggles with finishing that particular question, refusing to say 'after life' or 'after you die' or something of the like, because he refuses to believe the angel is dead. He can't be. _Cannot be_.

"I owe you _everything_, Cas, everything. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't… saved me. Saved me so many times."

A sob wracks Dean's body then, as a long-standing hurricane barrier seems to come down inside of him. He'd built a wall around his heart, and that wall had stood since the day the Leviathan took over. Sure, it'd started to crumble a few times, given way every once in a while, needed small repairs. But tonight… Tonight feels different. Tonight, it feels like that wall has fallen, been indelibly demolished in such a way that it could never, _ever_ be put together again, no matter how hard Dean tried.

This, this was the last straw.

Standing in the rain, Dean falls to his knees, ignoring the way his jeans became sodden, ignoring how rushes of ice-cold water splash up into holes in the pants that weren't a part of their original design. It doesn't matter. Nothing fucking matters, nothing outside the coat Dean is clutching tightly to himself.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he whimpers, full-on _whimpers,_ "For everything. I'm sorry for every time I ever doubted you, every time I put you in a position that absolutely _sucked_ for you, and most of all, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me most. I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner, and I'm sorry I… I didn't… I didn't help you. After everything, _everything _you helped me with, I… I didn't. I just didn't."

As he caresses the coat as though it were a feather on Castiel's wing, the world seems to spin around Dean, moving around and around at a sickening, blurred pace, like he could actually feel the Earth's rotation, feel it encircling its axis, encircling the sun.

"No." Dean's voice is a bit stronger this time as he turns his face up toward the sky, letting the rain soak his upturned eyes. "No. That's not what I'm most sorry for. Because I did something worse."

Now, Dean's just not sure he's going to able to get the next words out, but he's going to try his damndest. Because he needs to say them. Because he needs to hear them being spoken aloud, spoken in his own voice. Because _Cas_ needs to hear them; no matter where the angel is in space and time, he _needs_ to hear them.

"I did- I didn't tell you something… Something I should've. So, so long ago. I just… I just couldn't, couldn't make myself say it, couldn't bear the thought of… of getting a bad reaction." Dean swallows hard, diverting his eyes to the ground for just a moment as he tries to make himself just spit it out, once and for all. It seems like forever passes in the lapse of time during which he allows silence to prevail once more, but finally he looks back up, keeping his eyes screwed shut, letting the bitterly cold rain slam into his fluttering eyelids.

"I… I…" And the one first syllable of his last confession sticks in his throat as tears drop down his cheeks faster and harder than the rainfall is dropping from the clouds. "I love you, Cas."

Suddenly, Dean's knees give out from the metaphysical pressure, and he's flat on the ground, the right side of his hunter green t-shit soaking up the quickly-forming puddle on the surface of the motel's parking lot. "_I. Love. You. Castiel_." he murmurs once again, the movements of his lips forcing the water in the puddle to ripple. "And… I always have."

Dean just lays there, unable to get up, unable to move, bound by the sheer gravity of the words he's just spoken. Another strange, unhappy smile crosses his face as he sends up a silent prayer, asking whoever the fuck runs Heaven nowadays to please just take him, to please just let a lightning bolt smite him on the spot and end all this bullshit.

Of sudden, though, it's warm, dry, comfortable. Dean's not quite sure where he is or how much time has passed, but he's quite sure it doesn't feel like Hell. His senses return at a painfully slow pace. First, he can feel. He can feel warmth, softness enveloping him. Soon enough, he starts to piece the puzzle together, finally figuring that he must be in a bed somewhere.

Next comes sound. Dean could swear he hears the low rumble of voices not far off, but he can't make them out, not at first. It's a while before he recognizes Sam speaking, and another low, gravelly voice answering his little brother.

Dean's sure he knows that voice, he's so sure he does. Its richness is the first thing that's made him feel alive in a long, long time, and, if he didn't know better, he'd be inclined to guess he truly is in Heaven. But, alas, he does know better. Dean knows what he's done, knows the kind of life he's led, and he knows damn well that if he really is dead, Heaven is the farthest thing from where he'd be. Surely, he thinks, he must belong in Hell. Again.

But, oh, that voice… Something like that just couldn't exist in Hell. Actually, something like _that_ would _make _Hell into Heaven. And that would just throw off the balance of… well, everything.

The low hum of voices continues as Dean starts to regain his sight. At first, objects are just outlines, darkness standing against super-darkness. Soon, shades of light break through into his consciousness, and colors follow not long after.

The first color Dean sees is blue. It's a rich cerulean, deep as the ocean on a sunny afternoon, a color Dean just knows he's seen somewhere… _ Somewhere._

Chocolate brown breaks into his field of vision next. The color is just as rich as the earlier cerulean, taking on the aspect of the tallest trees in a shaded forest. It complements the blue nicely, Dean thinks.

Soon, he's seeing pink, the pink of lips he once ached to kiss. Then it's a creamy white, the color of skin he once longed to touch.

A picture is beginning to paint itself in Dean's mind, a picture he hasn't seen but in his dreams for what seems like an eternity. But he likes this picture. He _really _likes it.

As realization hits him, Dean's eyes fly open, met by a rush of color and shape he hadn't been focusing on previously. He can hardly believe what he sees, but the man standing just inches above him is real, so undeniably real. He's _there_, right in front of Dean for the first time in a long time, blue eyes wide with childish worry.

"Hello, Dean."

The man's heart leaps at the sound of it, the sound he's been so long awaiting. "Ca.. Cas?"

Ignoring Dean's question, the angel moves on to his own question, "Are you okay?"

And Dean smiles, _really_ smiles. "Never been better." He means it.

Suddenly, a twinge of pain causes him to grimace and cast a glance at his left shoulder. There, a handprint stands in stark contrast to the smooth expanse that is the rest of his skin. Pink, puffy, fresh, _familiar._

"I'm sorry," Cas mumbles, his gaze following Dean's toward the man in bed's shoulder, "I hadn't any choice."

"Wh-what?" Dean stutters, nearly convinced he's stuck in a dream.

"You required saving," Castiel answers matter-of-factly.

"I… uh what?" Dean is confused.

"You'd created for yourself a Perdition worse than one I first saved you from, and thus, my services were required once more." Cas was tilting his head ever so slightly, as if Dean's line of questioning was utterly nonsensical.

When Dean's puzzled expression remains, Cas continues, further elaborating, "Dean, when we first met, I'd just raised you from Perdition. In the past months, you've created for yourself a Hell far worse than the real one. You required raising. I was stuck, a disembodied wavelength of celestial intent, but I was needed. I was the only one who could save you, Dean. And thus, my body was re-created, I was returned to it, and I was sent to raise you from your own personal Perdition."

Dean's mouth is wide open. He doesn't know just what to say. Finally, he formed a question. "Who- who _re-created_ you?"

"I know not, Dean. That is something I still need to figure out. I do, however, have a feeling my father is back in town," Cas answers, confusion lacing his blue, blue eyes.

"_God?"_ Dean demands, somewhere between thrilled that the angel is standing in front of him once more, apparently intact, grace and all, and downright pissed off that God should just allow everything to happen then simply return as though nothing at all changed.

"Well, yes, Dean," Cas answers as though it was a stupid question, "God would be my father. But don't ask questions, you require rest. Sleep."

Dean made an attempt to speak once more, but the movement of his lips was met by Cas's stern finger in a shh-stop-talking gesture. Before Dean could object, he was taken aback by the sensation of the angel's body pressed up against his own from behind. Castiel's arms hovered loosely around Dean's waist, pulling himself closer to the recovering man. Cas's body fully encompassed Dean's, sharing his warmth and protection.

Dean just closed his eyes and smiled at the sensation, allowing sleep to take over his exhausted body, willing to speak to Cas once he awakened. Just as the man began to drift, though, he heard the rich, velvety voice whisper one more thing in his ear.

"I love you as well, Dean."

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><p><strong>I just really want things like this to happen. Also, I should be studying for midterms... But writing this just seemed like so much more fun. <strong>

**Anywho, here's hoping you enjoyed it. Got opinions? I'd positively adore hearing them. Much love (and Destiel cuddling) to the reviewers!**

**- Non Timebo Malo**


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